


2:10 to Wellton

by quackers



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Western, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quackers/pseuds/quackers
Summary: There's opportunity in the West.Gold.Fame.A spouse.





	2:10 to Wellton

The train was too small.

Not that Shane Madej, the latest addition to the territories of the West, had thought his cheap ticket would afford him the luxury of the first class cars. He merely wished that the seats and hallways had been designed with someone of his stature in mind. There was only so many times he could walk up and down the train cars to stretch his legs before he was considered mentally unwell. Perhaps he should have gone for the faster and much newer Santa Fe line, with its direct route from Chicago to Los Angeles, but a romantic portion of his soul had longed to take the opportunity to see more of the continent.

The stretch from Salt Lake City to San Francisco had been pleasant for a day, at least. Due to some amount of luck, he had been able to get an entire compartment to himself. He had enjoyed gazing out the window and watching the scenery pass in peace. Until a pair of sisters had wandered in, and he had stepped out so as not to make the nervous young women any more uncomfortable than they already were.

At least, that’s what he would have said if anyone had asked. The reality was that he couldn’t stand to hear another word of their whispered conversations.

They were both to be married in the new state of Oregon and their giggling and horrified, delighted gasps as they gossiped with each other about their perspective spouses would have been rather precious on any other day.

But Shane had his own marriage prospect at the end of this train line, and he wasn’t sure that he was nearly as enamored with the idea.

He had to admit, his lack of enthusiasm may have been informed just as much by his general ire towards traveling for days in the same set of clothing as it was his upcoming nuptials, but he was far too short-tempered in the moment to appreciate the logic of that thought. Five different trains and far too many days spent in cramped conditions had left him a bare shell of a man.

The slowly changing scenery had only added to his melancholy and not insubstantial nerves. It had been fascinating to see the plains, he had been rightfully in awe of the vast Rockies, and the lush bounty of the coastal regions of California had been breathtaking, but the flatter and dryer the country became, the more he dreaded the end of the journey. As much as he longed to leave the train, disembarking for this final time would mean the beginning of his new life. With a stranger. In the middle of nowhere.

In retrospect, maybe he should have joined the young women's conversation. Perhaps their excitement would have sparked his own. For surely this was a joyous occasion. He had been told so enough times.

“Fortify yourself,” he muttered, bracing with the ease of practice when the whistle sounded and the train began to slow with a squeal of brakes. He picked up the small bag he had brought with him into the compartment, filled with odds and ends that might entertain him during the long daylight hours. The handle was worn smooth and he rubbed his thumb over it in a constant pattern, needing something to do with his hands. His heart crept into his throat as the train lurched to a stop with a loud clunk.

For the sake of politeness, or so he told himself, he waited a moment to let other, more energetic and excited passengers go before him, but only a bare handful were disembarking at this particular station. Shane didn’t particularly appreciate the stark reminder that it was no hub of industry that he was moving to.

Yuma had been the previous station, drab and dry but possessing a fort and more than one street. There had been a certain amount of bustle he had been able to spy from his window, and the city itself was respectable for its age and location. He thought he might have been content to live there, if not happy. But he hadn’t stopped in Yuma.

No, his destination was a small town by the name of Wellton that was little more than a line switch for the Southern Pacific Railroad. From what he had been able to ascertain from his fiance’s letters, the town boasted an inn, a tavern, a blacksmith, a general store, a bank, and ‘assorted other businesses’, which Shane took to mean that it had more than one brothel. Most of the inhabitants were gold miners or railroad employees, the type of shiftless human that were ‘no better than they ought to be,’ as his mother would have put it. It did not surprise him that there might be multiple houses of ill repute

He supposed he was lucky that the train station most likely held a telegraph machine, so if there was ever urgent news from home, there was a chance he would receive it.

His fingers tightened around the handle of his bag as Shane made his way to the doors, hesitating for one tempting moment, aching to stay on the train and make his way back home. But no, he was an adult and he had made his decision. There was no life for him in Chicago. Not as the old spinster he had become.

‘There’s money to be had in the West’ echoed in his mind, his father’s words a further goad. Languishing on a pitiful inheritance and his brother's good will was no longer an option his pride could handle.

As he ducked under the lintel and stepped down onto the portable stairs that had been put against the train’s doorway, Shane’s first impression was of _sun_. He squinted into the brightness, clamping his coachman’s hat farther down to try and shade his eyes. But it was a hat built more for fashion than function and did very little to protect him.

He had known that Arizona was a desert, and he had been aware of the sweltering heat in the train and the blur of passing dirt and sagebrush out the windows, but it was somehow different standing under the blazing sun for the first time.

_I may never see snow again_.

The thought hit him hard. He had to take a deep breath through his nose, staring intensely at the ramshackle buildings in front of him to keep himself from leaping back onto the train.

“Ah, excuse me. Mr. Madej? Shane Madej?”

Distantly surprised that the strange voice had said his name correctly, Shane looked down to meet the eyes of a man who looked nearly as nervous as he felt.

Well-made but well-worn clothes, a Stetson hat, sturdy boots, and a silver star affixed to the man's vest. There were two gun belts slung across his waist, a pistol on either hip.

If this was the sheriff, then this was his fiance.

Shane stared for a second of uncomprehending shock before belatedly nodding. “That would be me.”

“You are far taller than I expected,” the man said with the air of someone that didn't realize they were speaking out loud. Then he seemed to remember himself and thrust out his hand. “Forgive me, that was rude. Ryan Bergara. Your, uh… We exchanged letters.”

Well, at least he wasn’t alone in not knowing how to handle the situation.

_Manners. Remember your manners, you foolish man._

Shane clasped and shook Bergara’s hand; a rough, calloused hand that was the brown of an already tan man who spent a large amount of time out in the sun. His own fingers looked shockingly pale in comparison and Shane had the sudden realization that if he didn’t start wearing gloves and keeping his face shielded by a hat, he would soon burn so red he would rival a Boston lobster.

He hadn’t thought of that. There were gloves packed into his luggage, but they were warm winter gloves that his mother had insisted he take, and they would be unbearably hot under the harsh sun of Arizona. He was beginning to suspect that he was woefully under-prepared for his new life.

“And you look far younger than I expected,” Shane said as he let go, letting his mouth run without conscious thought.

_So much for manners_.

Luckily, Bergara seemed more amused than offended. “This country forces a person to grow up quickly. I believe you are only five years older than me.”

Only five. As if reaching his thirties without a set career or family wasn’t something to be remarked upon.

The small pause that followed was unmistakably awkward, but Bergara saved it by nodding towards the corner of the platform. “Shall we get your luggage?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose I don’t want to leave without those.”

Shane winced at his own sarcastic words, glad that Bergara had already started towards the small pile of bags and steamer trunks that a few people were sorting through. Maybe he hadn’t been heard. He really needed to keep a better hold on his tongue in the future, as there was a reason no man or woman had expressed interest in becoming permanently shackled to him. Bergara was the first, and that had more to do with the careful arrangements of their parents than actual romantic intent.

It wouldn’t do to alienate the one person he knew in this God forsaken land.

As he followed after Bergara, he took the opportunity to study the man that was to be his husband. A lawman by trade and sheriff by circumstance, he was a muscular, trim figure and in possession of some wealth, as those guns sported mother-of-pearl handles that could not have been cheap. Bergara had come across as an intelligent, passionate man and a hard worker in his letters. But letters did not always reflect a person’s true nature. He could only hope he had gotten lucky in his choice of spouses.

Shane was heartened to note the painstakingly clean shave, speaking to a very recent trip to the barber. If true, the idea was almost adorable. It was comforting to think that Bergara had wanted to put forth a good impression. The unfortunate truth of the matter, though, was that the longer Shane was able to look around and notice his surroundings, the more and more homesick he was already becoming.

Did this place not boast a single tree?

He ruthlessly shoved those thoughts away. In broad daylight- and good Lord was it an abundance of daylight- and in front of his newly met fiance was not the time to feel sorry for himself. There would be time for that later.

Potentially for the rest of his life.

Rather than continue to fall into a spiral of self-pity, Shane focused on the conversation he could overhear between Bergara and a couple of the men who were picking up bags. They obviously knew Bergara, and he supposed that he would have to get used to his fiance being recognized. He was the sheriff, after all.

“And this is your fancy fella?”

Bergara shifted on his feet, though his voice was remarkably level when he said, “Now don’t go embarrassing me in front of my betrothed, Marchbank. Mr. Madej, Marchbank and Celestino occasionally work the general store when they’re not working a claim. If you’re ever across from one of them at a card table, don’t trust them as far as you can throw them.”

Shane nodded in greeting, unnerved that he had barely been there for more than five minutes and he was already being introduced to locals. Out of the frying pan into the fire.

The one man tipped his hat and muttered a polite ‘How do you do?’ but the other rocked back on his heels and whistled. “You went and got yourself a tall one, didn’t ya, Ryan. You must have been right thrilled to see him walk off the train.”

“I swear to the Almighty, I’ll throw you in the jail for a night, TJ.”

“That’s what you get for warning him off before we can fleece him.”

Bergara scowled goodnaturedly and pointedly shooed them off before Shane could reply, which was altogether a good thing. He thought of himself as a fair poker player, but who knew how rough games could get around here? One heard the rumors of what happened in the West and he probably shouldn’t challenge anyone on his very first day.

“Does everyone know who I am, or were they special?” Shane asked before he could stop himself.

“Ah,” Bergara hesitated, rubbing his thumb over his gun belt in a nervous gesture. “It’s a small town. Gossip is prime entertainment ‘round here.”

Lovely.

“So which bags are yours?” Bergara asked brightly into the silence.

Right.

Shane kept his thoughts to himself and nodded towards the single trunk and two bags that were clustered together at the edge of the pile. It had been somewhat depressing to learn that his life could be packed together in so few pieces of luggage.

“I’ll have one of the station boys come ‘round with the trunk,” Bergara explained, edging forward as Shane tried somewhat unsuccessfully to handle three different bags. “May I take one?”

A small pettiness made him hand over the valise that was filled mostly with books, uncharitably hoping to make Bergara as uncomfortable as he was. Bergara took the bag without complaint, his face not twitching the slightest at the weight, as if it was barely noticeable.

Shane fought not to be impressed, but he had a tidy collection of books, and they were not light.

Bergara, to his credit, tried hard to keep the conversation going as they began their trek, and Shane in turn responded as politely as he could. It was difficult to nod along and ask questions about their surroundings when all he could think was that Wellton barely had a single road and why bother telling him which building was which? It wasn’t like he was going to get lost amongst the two dozen structures.

By the time they made it to a small house that could barely be called such, its outside appearance as bland and dusty as every other building, it was clear that Bergara was struggling. Not with the valise, but with the entire situation. He hesitated awkwardly at the front step, his quick study of the door and even quicker glance at Shane showing his sudden embarrassment, as if he knew exactly how unfavorably everything was being judged.

Abruptly Shane was reminded that Bergara was younger than him. Sheriff or no, the man had admitted in a letter that he was painfully new to the entire idea of marriage, whereas Shane had, at the very least, attempted to court a person or two.

Feeling like a heel, Shane took a fortifying breath and said as cheerfully as he could, “Not a single room, I hope? A spouse must maintain _some_ mystery, after all.”

Something about his exaggerated, arch question made Bergara relax. He laughed, which made Shane let out a thin breath in relief. Was their entire relationship going to be nothing but painfully careful conversation?

“Three, if you can believe your fortune,” Bergara said, swinging open the door and gesturing Shane inside. “A front room, a kitchen, and a bedroom. I’m sure it’s not up to your big city standards, but I do have wooden floors, real glass windows and once the lines get out here, I’m set up for electricity.” He said it with pride that would have been mocked back home, but Shane could understand how having such things in the middle of a desert was something to be justly proud of.

Shane ducked inside, his glance around the first room taking in a writing desk, two comfortable-looking chairs, and two surprisingly well-stocked bookshelves. That many books this far out must have cost a pretty penny. “I grew up sharing a building with another family, Mr. Bergara,” he said, taking note of the woven rug in the middle of the floor. “Forgive my teasing, I don’t actually need much space.”

“I’m just glad my ceilings are high enough for your oversized head.”

Shane turned to stare at Bergara, who had a look on his face as if he had only just realized what he had said and wanted to fling himself back out the door.

There was a moment of silence, then Shane let out an undignified laugh that he tried to smother, but closing his mouth merely turned it into muffled, unattractive snorts. He sat down his bags, and in a fit of bravery, reached out to offer his hand again. “Thank God,” he said with a grin. “I was wondering where the man who was willing to call a prospective fiance an idiot in his letters was. Shane Madej, at your service.”

Bergara carefully sat down the valise, then shook Shane’s hand with a giddy grin of his own. “Ryan Bergara. Anyone who argues that _all_ mediums are charlatans is a damn idiot and I stand by what I wrote.”

“Wonderful,” Shane said dryly. “I may be marrying a man who is touched in the head, but at least you stick to your values.”

At the mention of marriage, Shane was reminded that he was still holding Bergara’s warm hand. He took a hasty step backward at the same time as Bergara did, but where Shane backed farther into the room, Bergara’s heel clipped the door behind him, making him stumble.

Shane couldn’t help it.

He snorted.

That got him a flustered glare, color high on Bergara’s cheeks in a way that made him remarkably attractive and for the first time since he had stepped onto the train in Chicago, Shane felt something that resembled hope.

 

\----------------------

 

“And do you, Shane Alexander Madej, being of sound mind-”

Shane lost the thread of the words, most of his attention focused on the sweaty palm clasped in his and the way Bergara kept shifting on his feet.

He had not slept well the night before. Between the melancholy of being so far from home, the nerves of an imminent marriage ceremony, and the heat from Bergara’s body in the single bed being the only thing keeping him warm during the surprisingly cold night, peaceful slumber had not been forthcoming.

Dressing in his best, if wrinkled, clothes and brushing off his hat had taken far longer than it should have. He had needed to stop between each article of clothing to take a few deep breaths, just because he could hear the chatter of people in the front room of the house, and the reminder that half the damn town was showing up for this little ceremony was anxiety-inducing. What Shane had assumed would be a quick repeating of vows and a couple of signatures in a registry was, to his immense chagrin, the event of the area.

What was unfair, he kept thinking to himself, was that if this had been the result of a love match, he would have thrilled at the idea of being the center of attention on such an important day. As it was a desperate bid for legal companionship and a chance at a new life, instead, the townsfolk cheerfully escorting them to the single, small church was completely unnecessary.

Shane had been introduced to a baker’s dozen of people in front of Bergara’s house, but the only ones who stood out were Ruggirello and Illnickyj, who were Bergara’s deputies. It had taken an effort of will to not boggle at the sight of a woman wearing pants and a gun hanging off her hip, but Ruggirello’s no-nonsense attitude had convinced him that silence was the better part of valor in regards to his surprise.

Everyone knew the West was open to wild ideas, but women working in the law was not something he had expected. He thought perhaps he would write his mother about it, as he expected she would be scandalously delighted.

God, the fact that his own family was not here to watch him stumble through the required phrases and nearly drop the ring was an ache he had not expected. Bergara had quietly apologized for his lack of attending family as well, early in the morning when the night chill still lingered. Shane had been solemnly informed that Bergara’s mother and brother would make the trip as soon as they were able, which oddly gave him more nerves than the ceremony did.

“- may kiss the groom.”

Bergara’s hand tightening convulsively around his recalled his attention back to the situation. Rather than stay standing straight and embarrass his much shorter _husband_ in front of the town, Shane leaned down so that Bergara merely had to tilt his head slightly to give him a perfunctory peck on the corner of his mouth.

The crowd in the rough wooden pews politely clapped, then someone yelled, “C’mon, Bergara, give us a real show!” The tone was teasing, but more than one person chuckled meanly.

Shane’s hand was dropped and Bergara turned towards the voice. “Don’t think I don’t know who that was, Horace!”

A few more people laughed and a couple of jeers were thrown into the mix. There were one or two derisive mutters that Shane could just barely hear, and it occurred to him that while most of the folk seemed to like Bergara well enough, no sheriff was universally loved. Even if the circumstances of their marriage was common knowledge, he was certain detractors were saying something to the effect that Bergara had not been able to find a spouse the normal way.

True or not, Shane disliked the idea that someone might think less than highly of the man he had chosen to spend his life with. He paused to study Bergara, who did look rather dapper in his well-fitted clothes. The silver star gleamed on his jacket, highlighting the white embroidery on his black vest. Embarrassment had colored the apples of his cheeks and his eyes were a soft and clear brown, nervous energy making him look full of life. The oil that had been used to try and tame his hair had long since given up, meaning the dark strands were more like riotous tufts than a slick pompadour.

Bergara did make a pretty picture.

_To hell with it_.

Taking Bergara, and to an extent himself, by surprise, Shane took the one step needed to slot their bodies together, wrapping his arm around Bergara’s shoulders and pressing their lips together. It was a swift, dramatic move, the momentum making him sway forward until Bergara was bent backward, instinctually clutching at Shane’s upper arms.

For one breathless moment, he was supporting all of Bergara’s weight and the knowledge that he could do that made him grin against his husband’s mouth. He was sure they looked like something from a theatrical production and the part of him that adored being the center of attention was thrilled by it. It didn’t even matter that the actual kiss was lackluster, as Bergara was too busy making surprised noises.

Then Bergara found his balance again, one rough, gun-calloused hand cradled the back of Shane’s head and-

Oh.

Well.

Bergara had some skill at kissing, it would seem.

The cheers and laughing shouts made them straighten up and step apart. “That’ll show them,” he murmured just loud enough for Bergara to hear.

Startled and flushed, Bergara blinked at him, then slowly grinned. Shane matched the expression, the two of them breaking into giggles like they had a secret.

It felt nice, to think that maybe he hadn’t made a mistake in his choice.

 

\--------------

 

“You kept all of my letters?”

“Of course I kept all of your letters,” Shane said, too drunk to think as he tried to unbutton his vest one handed. His other hand had a death grip on a bottle of _terrible_ scotch that had been a gift from the bordello’s bartender. He had been a little concerned by the idea that one of his husband’s closest friends was a woman who ran a tavern, but by the fifth glass of whiskey, he felt quite ready to change his opinion. The West had so many fascinating, strong-willed women!

What had they been talking about?

“Oh! Yes,” he said out loud. “Did you throw all of mine away?” He made a face at Bergara- No, _Ryan_ , flushing as he remembered all over again the careful way Ryan had asked him to use his name. “You’re the worst husband. The _worst_.”

“I kept your letters!” Ryan exclaimed indignantly, flopping down onto the mattress and pawing ineffectually at his necktie.

Shane made a rude noise. “Prove it, four-flusher.” He looked at the bottle, then mournfully put it down on the floor just so he could tackle the buttons with two hands. It wasn’t much of an improvement, but more progress was being made than before. Good Lord, buttons were too hard.

Ryan groaned and flailed in the direction of the front room. “They’re in the writing desk. I’m too soused to stand up and get them.”

“Weak-blooded little man,” Shane said with too much fondness for someone he had only met the day before. “

“It’s not my fault you’re half tree. You have a damn hollow leg?”

“Schmuck,” Shane muttered, pulling at his vest.

“For God’s sake, get over here and let me do it,” Ryan pointed at the bed and Shane thought nothing of it as he stumbled over. There were a few mumbled, creative swears as Ryan struggled to sit up, then his fingers were tugging and pulling at Shane’s vest, more nimble than they should have been as he unhooked each tiny button. “Fuckin’ big city boy, gotta have the damn _fancy_ buttons-”

“That’s me, fancy as all get out.”

Ryan snorted as he managed the last button. “Your voice changes when you’re drunk.”

Shane peered blearily down at him. He had left his spectacles in his valise, but he was overcome by the sudden urge to find them just so he could see Ryan’s eyes more clearly. “What?”

“You don’t sound nearly half as educated when you’re drunk,” Ryan explained, pulling at the bottom of Shane's shirt until it was completely untucked.

"Does anyone?"

"One of the old farts that works a claim up the mountain range sounds like a goddamn philosopher when he's thrown in my jail for public drunkenness.” Ryan laughed at his own story as he started unbuttoning the shirt without asking.

So often Shane forgot that Ryan was a sheriff. The day had not called for guns and Shane had found himself idly missing their presence on Ryan’s hips. He caught Ryan’s hand, cradling strong fingers in his palm. “We’re too drunk for you to be undressing me.”

Ryan’s eyebrows went up and then he closed his eyes and flopped back onto the bed, pulling his hand away so he could cover his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said, the apology muffled. “I didn’t- I wasn’t trying to-” He took a deep breath. “Being married doesn’t mean I’m expecting anything of a, uh, intimate nature.”

Shane tugged his vest and shirt off, flinging them onto the floor. The movement made him wobble and he set his knee on the bed before he fell over. “Ryan,” he said, poking at Ryan’s elbow to get him to look at him. “Whiskey dick. That’s why I said we shouldn’t. I like your guns.”

“... What?”

“They’re attractive,” Shane said with the kind of forthrightness that only came with alcohol. “You’re attractive.” He brought his hands together in a gesture that wobbled. “Gun plus you is… is... “

Ryan raised one eyebrow. “Attractive?”

Shane pointed at him. “That’s it!”

“Christ, sir, you’re about to black out,” Ryan said with a snort. “Maybe you don’t hold your liquor any better than me.” Then he bit his lip, his amused expression becoming hesitant. “Do you actually find me attractive?”

Shane gave up and slumped onto the bed, his face smushed into the pillow. He made some kind of agreeing noise that turned into a moan when closing his eyes made the room spin.

“Really? I thought I would be too…”

“Too?” Shane prompted, getting a mouthful of pillow.

“Too young. Too short. Too… me.”

With a great effort of will, Shane managed to lift his head to stare at Ryan. “Why the fuck would I care about any of that?”

“Still, I’m not expecting-”

Shane clumsily pushed his hand into Ryan’s face, slurring a laugh when Ryan swore at him. “Shush. Attractive. You. Me?”

“When you’re not being a right fool, yes, you’re prettier than a silver dollar.”

“Mmm,” Shane said, enjoying the feeling of Ryan’s stubble under his fingertips. “Dollar. That’s good.”

“Christ. Go to sleep.”

 

 

\---------------------------------------------- 

 

 

A week since he had arrived in Wellton and Shane was almost used to the heat.

That was a damn lie, but he thought if he kept telling it to himself, it might eventually come true.

He wiped a handkerchief over his face, grimacing in disgust when he saw it was already soaked in sweat. The short walk across the road from the tavern to Wellton’s small jail was enough to make him feel like he was drowning in the sun. As much as it pained him, he was seriously thinking of investing in a Stetson. His coachman hat did nothing to shield him.

When he reached the jail, he knocked politely on the door before going in, not surprised to see that Ryan was poring over a map while Andrew and Jen were engrossed in activities he was going to guess had nothing to do with the law.

“Your husband is here again.”

“You say that like you’ve got a burr under your saddle, but how often did Steven come visit you after your wedding?” Jen asked lazily.

Andrew narrowed his eyes at Jen, then pointedly went back to his book.

Ryan looked up from the map, scowling at the other two before throwing a quick smile at Shane. “Why do I bother employing you two?”

“Because you needed someone actually intimidating?” Jen suggested, kicking her legs up to rest her boots on her desk. Andrew didn’t even bother to answer.

Ignoring Jen’s response, Ryan tipped his head in a silent invitation to come closer. “How was your first day?”

“Horrifying,” Shane said, drifting closer until he was able to look at the mess of papers on Ryan’s desk. “Daysha’s accounts are a Gordian Knot of a mess.”

“What did I say about your educated references, Madej?”

Shane grinned and dutifully repeated, “Take them out back and shoot them.”

“Until they die screaming,” Ryan continued with a nod. He pushed the map closer. “If you were an outlaw riding overland from Yuma, where would you hole up for the night?”

“Why do you assume I know how to read a map?”

“Worthless,” Ryan muttered, his insult more fond than anything else. “Got the telegraph an hour ago, but if he pushes his horse he could be in the area tonight. Gonna see if we can’t flush ‘im out.”

“Ah, just the three of you?” The idea of his husband going after a no-doubt armed outlaw did not sit well with him. He had been assured that shootouts at high noon weren’t nearly as common as the penny dreadfuls would have him believe, but he knew the job was still dangerous.

Ryan glanced up at him, his expression a little too understanding. “Andrew will stay here. Me and Jen will go and I’ll pick up that rancher’s kid that keeps hanging out at the bar. He could use something better to do than complain about cattle.”

Shane bit back his response and leaned over the map. It was the first time he had seen one of the area and he wasn’t surprised to learn that it was a vast space of nothing. Gold really did make a fool out of people, to make so many move to the middle of nowhere.

Ryan shifted his weight, drawing imperceptibly closer.

He was suddenly aware, with a kind of realization that left the tips of his fingers tingling, that his face was right next to Ryan's. The drum of his heart climbed into his throat, and completely daring and not allowing himself caution, he turned his head just enough to press his lips to the faint hollow of Ryan's temple. Once. Twice. Enough to feel the imprint of hair against his lips and smell the dust that had settled on Ryan.

It had been days since that drunken, half-remembered conversation about attraction, and neither of them had tried to touch the other.

Ryan's breath stilled, his body going rigid. He did not move his head, but when Shane leaned back, he could see that Ryan was looking at him from the corner of his eye, expression painfully hopeful.

Shane cleared his throat and tapped the map in front of him. “This pass?”

“The pass the telegraph goes through?” Ryan asked without even looking down at the map. His clear, brown eyes were now trained on Shane’s lips. “He won’t go through there if he has any sense. It’s too well traveled.”

“This canyon?”

“Maybe,” Ryan said slowly, leaning in, his eyelashes ridiculously long and dark in the sunlight that shone through the window. “Most likely place.”

“If you two are going to kiss, please do so in private like good God-fearing folk,” Jen drawled from behind them.

Ryan closed his eyes and sighed heavily through his nose. “I can take your badge.”

“No, you can’t.”

Shane started to laugh, his heart damn near fluttering. This marriage thing was starting to become a better and better deal.

 

\------------ 

 

“Madej, you’re going to want to come quick.”

Shane startled, quickly sitting up and staring slack-jawed at Andrew, who had burst into the house without even knocking. “Wha-”

“It’s Ryan. He’s been shot.”

The blood drained from his face so fast that he felt light-headed.

He wasn’t sure how he remembered to throw on a jacket against the cold of the night or put boots on instead of running to the doctor’s in his bare feet. His only thought was for Ryan, dumb, stupid, noble Ryan, who-

“I’m fine,” Ryan yelled, slapping at the hands reaching for him. He was sitting on a patient bed, glaring at Jen and Andrew. “You didn’t have to wake him up.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Shane said, his voice thick as he took in the sheer amount of blood-darkened grit and dirt that covered Ryan’s arm and side. “What the fuck happened?”

“Don’t swear in front of the lady,” the doctor said absently from where he was picking pieces of rock out of Ryan’s skin.

“Fuck off, Velasquez,” Jen shot back.

“I would, querida, but the circus decided to set up in my house at three in the morning.”

“Just give me some damn whiskey-”

Velasquez glared at Ryan. “Cállate. You’re lucky I’m even giving you morphine, gettin’ shot by a fuckin’ fifteen-year-old kid like that. Idiot.”

“Will someone please tell me what happened?” Shane asked quietly.

Ryan hunched forward, hanging his head in embarrassment.

“Our brave sheriff got himself shot by a rancher’s boy that barely knows how to hold a gun.”

“He couldn’t see, he didn’t know who he was shooting,” Ryan muttered, obviously in pain but quick to defend the boy. “Zack knows how to handle a gun, he just got excited.”

“And that’s why you’re an idiot.”

Shane couldn’t stand it anymore. He pushed past Jen and Andrew and settled on his knees next to the bed, taking ahold of Ryan’s uninjured hand and leaning his forehead against Ryan’s wrist. “Why are you so dirty?” he asked steadily, as if he wasn’t in a position of desperate prayer.

“He fell off his horse,” Jen said. “Because he’s an idiot.”

He ignored the rest of the conversation after that, all of his attention and will on the warm skin against his. The distant awareness of the others eventually leaving was dismissed as unimportant, but the hand in his grasp turning and pulling at the shoulder of his shirt finally made him look up. Ryan was frowning in pain, but his eyes were clear and Shane nearly got up to find Velasquez and more morphine. Yet as he came to his feet, he stumbled into the bed, his knees horribly stiff.

“Shane-”

“I have half a mind to pack my things and be on the first train that comes through tomorrow,” Shane said, his churning thoughts of the past fifteen minutes spewing out of his mouth in an uncontrolled tumble. “What were you thinking?”

Ryan sighed, tugging his hand back so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “That Zack knows how to handle a gun and I didn’t want to leave the town without any deputies. I didn’t think he would shoot the first person with the right colored horse that he saw.” He drew in a deep breath, like he was trying to find calm. “It was an accident. And I think I’ve been punished enough. What with the damn hole in my arm and all.”

Shane bit back his first response. He knew that his reaction was born from worry and his own surprise at his worry, not logic. Resting his hip on the edge of the bed, he leaned over Ryan’s body to take a closer look at the bandaged arm. Now that Ryan was more or less clean, it didn’t look nearly as bad as it had when he had first walked in.

“If you die, this entire endeavor will have been worthless,” he said softly, unable to meet Ryan’s gaze.

Warm fingers grasped his chin, prickling against his early morning stubble. “Shane, I have no plans to die,” Ryan told him solemnly, if with a hint of exasperation coloring his tone. “I have a husband to take care of.”

Shane raised his eyebrows, tired but delighted offense making his mouth twitch in a smile. “Oh, _you’re_ taking care of _me_ , is that it?”

“You asked me why I would need multiple blankets in the desert.”

“And you think eating tinned beans for breakfast is healthy.”

“You burned the eggs.”

Shane grinned, more fully settling his weight on the bed and enjoying the feel of fingertips lingering over his skin.

Ryan studied him for a moment. “Would you really?” He asked with his brows furrowed together. “Would you leave?”

Despite himself, Shane thought of it. He thought about buying a ticket to Chicago with the very last of his savings and enduring the cramped train cabins. There would be positives to such a trip. A chance to see more of the country again. A chance to see his parents. A return to familiar streets and weather that didn’t make him feel like he had wandered into Hell.

But Chicago did not have any opportunities left for him.

Chicago did not have Ryan.

Shane shook his head, even as he said, “Don’t do anything particularly stupid and you won’t have to find out.”

The fingers that had been stroking his cheek slipped down to curl along the edge of his jaw, urging him forward. He went with it willingly, meeting Ryan’s lip with a thin sigh. It was simple and nearly chaste. It was a kiss shared between a couple who had exchanged dozens of letters, not one between two near strangers. It was so close to perfect that it made Shane's heart ache.

“I have no regrets,” Shane murmured, meeting Ryan’s small, relieved smile with one of his own. “Don’t get shot again.”

“At least we got the guy,” Ryan said mutinously.

Shane laughed.

No, there wouldn’t be any trains in his future.

Not when his husband was right here.

**Author's Note:**

> Ye Olde West Arranged Marriage AU, requested by Emilia and has far less angst and smut than one might have anticipated. Congrats on graduating!
> 
> My western roots make me nostalgic for a good desert filled with sagebrush and nothing else. 
> 
> I feel no shame for the title. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy the fluff! <3
> 
> Come bother me on [ Tumblr. ](https://mephsation.tumblr.com/)


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